


the one where Bucky Barnes is a hot dad and Steve Rogers is an elementary school teacher

by pure1magination



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Elementary School, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Chicken Soup, Couch Cuddles, Domestic Fluff, Elementary School, Eskimo Kisses, Family Feels, Father-Daughter Relationship, Feeding Kink, Female Loki, Forehead Kisses, Hand Feeding, Implied Relationships, Kid Loki and Kid Thor, Kid Tony Stark, M/M, Post-Divorce, Single Parents, Teacher Steve Rogers, Veterans, hot dad Bucky Barnes, some damn sexy strawberries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-20
Updated: 2014-08-20
Packaged: 2018-02-14 00:57:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2171847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pure1magination/pseuds/pure1magination
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers is in his early 40s and hasn't dated anyone in years- not since the war. He has no interest in dating. His life is devoted to teaching elementary school. </p><p>He finds himself getting attached to a particularly smart, quiet girl who he is sure is ahead of the class. He decides to have a talk with the girl's parents about her exceptional intelligence and her antisocial tendencies.</p><p>What he doesn't know is that she is the child of single father, fellow war veteran, James "Bucky" Barnes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the one where Bucky Barnes is a hot dad and Steve Rogers is an elementary school teacher

Ah, September. The sky was clear and blue, the sunlight warm and bright, the leaves just beginning to turn. Steve Rogers admired these things on his early-morning walk to school. He lived close enough to the elementary school that he didn’t need to drive. He carried a briefcase in one hand, stuffed full of lesson plans and assignments. His mouth was quirked up on one side in a wry smile. He’d been moved up from first to second grade—that meant he’d have a lot of the same students he’d had last year. The good news was he knew exactly how to handle them.

Despite having no children of his own, Steve Rogers was good with children—he opened the heavy doors to the school and inhaled the familiar scent of damp carpet, dusty lockers, paper, and crayons. He was still young- in his early forties- but Steve was single and hadn’t dated anyone in years.

“Hey Steve,” greeted principal Coulson from the break room, holding up a steaming cup of cheap office coffee in greeting.

“Hey,” Steve replied, smiling politely.

As always, Coulson was impeccably dressed. “You ready for the new school year?”

Steve paused near the doorway to the break room. “Ready as always,” he remarked confidently.

Coulson’s gray eyes twinkled. “Have you reconsidered my offer?”

Steve shook his head, smiling politely but wryly. “I’m not going out with you, Phil.”

Coulson shrugged and tried not to look disappointed. “Maybe someday…”

“Doubtful.”

Coulson stared out the window at the playground and took a sip of his coffee. “Got your eye on someone?”

“Not yet.”

Coulson chuckled. “Still waiting for the right partner?”

“Not really looking.” Steve pushed away from the doorway and started off towards his classroom.

“He’ll find someone,” Coulson remarked, mostly to himself, as he stared out the window.

Steve overheard him, but chose to ignore the comment. He had other things to focus on. Like coming up with a schedule plan, sticking to school codes, creating and grading the assignments for nearly thirty students, and acting as a parental figure towards all thirty of them. It wasn’t the same as having children of his own but, well. He wasn’t lonely. Not when he was at school, anyway.

And Steve was, at the moment, at school.

He arranged his desk as he waited for students to filter in.

* * *

“You’re sure you packed enough to eat for lunch?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Your shoes are strapped on nice and tight? They’re not gonna fall off?” Bucky Barnes bent down and fussed with the straps of his daughter’s Mary Janes.

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, Daddy.” She pulled her foot away. “I’m fine.”

Bucky looked up at her from his position kneeling on the ground. “You brushed your teeth?”

“Yes.”

“You brushed your hair.”

“Yes!”

“You sure you’re gonna be warm enough?”

“Daddy!” she whined.

Bucky bit his lip and examined her with worried eyes.

His daughter observed his worry. She stepped forward and hugged him, tugging his face to her chest. “I love you, Daddy.”

Bucky cried against her white floral sundress as he hugged her back. “I love you too, sweet pea!”

She kissed the top of his head. The familiar sound of air brakes wheezed through the morning air outside. “I gotta go, Dad. It’s the bus.”

Bucky reluctantly let go.

“See you later Dad!” she called as she ran out the door.

* * *

Steve ran down the attendance list. He’d seen most of them before. Just his luck. But there were a few new faces. The first new face on his class list was “Barnes, Anastasia?”

A little girl with wavy light brown hair, steady brown eyes, and a white floral sundress raised her hand. “Anya,” she corrected clearly.

“Anya,” Steve repeated. He made a note of it. He continued through the attendance list. He had to suppress a groan when he called out “Laufeyson, Lucy?” and “Stark, Anthony?”

“Tony!” the tiny voice objected. Steve already knew. But part of him enjoyed getting this kid’s goat. He made a note beside Tony’s name. Tony and Lucy were already making faces at each other across the classroom.

It was going to be a long year.

* * *

Most of the new children were relatively well-behaved. Of course, second graders will be second graders. There was hair-pulling and gum-chewing and all sorts of name-calling. Steve- “Mr. Rogers”- had to interfere several times on the playground, mostly with the constantly bickering Lucy Laufeyson and Tony Stark.

“He started it!” she whined, pointing.

“I did not!” He kicked her.

“Owww! Mister Rogers!”

Steve walked over, suppressing a sigh. “All right you two. Lucy, why don’t you go play with Theodore?”

Lucy stared darkly at him. If her green eyes could shoot daggers, Steve would probably be pinned to the brick school building behind him. “No,” she ground out in her most intimidating tone.

“Yeah Lucy, go play with your _boyfriend!”_ Tony teased. He stuck out his tongue.

“He is _not_ my boyfriend.”

“Lucy’s got a boyfriend, Lucy’s got a boyfriend!”

“Tony,” Steve warned.

Theodore, large for his age, surprisingly muscular, and with long blond hair pulled back in a ponytail, was currently pushing his classmates on a tire swing. His father, Mr. Odinson, was the head of the school district. Steve had never met him, but because of his parentage and his stature, nobody messed with Theodore. Steve was of the opinion that if Lucy befriended him, Tony might stop picking on her. Everybody liked Theodore. Except Lucy.

“He _smells,”_ Lucy objected, turning her aristocratic nose upward with a sneer.

“Yeah? What does he _smell_ like?” Tony taunted.

Lucy growled at him.

“Kids,” Steve warned.

The bell rang, indicating that recess was over.

* * *

Steve was more than happy to arrive at his humble one-story, one-bedroom house that night. He kicked off his dark brown penny loafers, unbuttoned the top button of his shirt, set his briefcase on his sepia-stained coffee table, and flopped down on his old worn-out couch. It creaked under his weight. He flipped to the history channel.

Tony and Lucy had bickered the entire day. He was going to have to have a very firm talk with their parents.

Most of the other kids were okay. There had been occasional teasing and whatnot, only to be expected. Nothing major. Altogether, not a horrible first day.

* * *

“How was your first day at school?” Bucky asked the second Anya came through the door.

“Fine, Dad.”

“Did you make any new friends? Did you have fun? Did anyone pick on you?” His emotions changed rapidly as he shot rapid-fire questions at her.

“Dad!”

Bucky pulled her into a hug, lifting her off her feet and burying his face in her hair. “I missed you, sweet pea.”

She hugged him back. “Missed you too, Daddy,” she said as though she only half-meant it. She was getting older. Of course she didn’t miss him as much as he missed her.

Bucky set her on the ground. “What do you want for dinner, sweet pea?”

She grinned, showcasing her adorable gap teeth. “Pizza!”

Bucky grinned and mussed her hair. “Pizza it is!”

* * *

The second day went much the same as the first. Tony and Lucy bickered all day. Theodore effortlessly befriended the entire class, charming them with his strength, his size, and his ever-positive attitude. The kid had ‘future sports star’ written all over him.

As the week went on, Steve began noticing something. The Barnes girl finished almost all of her assignments way before the rest of the class. She kept a book tucked in her desk, which she would unobtrusively take out once she was done with whatever assignment she’d just breezed through. Steve glanced at the cover to her book one day the next week—she was reading _Treasure Island_.

Treasure Island! As though the book were _Amelia Bedilia_ or _Junie B. Jones!_

Anya seemed to have no trouble reading the paperback novel. Occasionally she would pause, quietly sneak over to the bookshelf, look up a word in the dictionary, nod, eyebrows smoothing, and return to her seat, then pick up the book again and continue reading.

Steve found himself increasingly observing this student. She had a stubborn jaw and an adorable little cleft chin. Her hair was sandy-colored and wavy, curling when it was humid. She had serious brown eyes, usually shaded by light eyebrows that seemed drawn into a perpetual frown of concentration. Anya didn’t talk much—in fact, she hardly talked at all. Steve took to observing her at recess when he wasn’t interfering with Tony and Lucy. Most often, he found her sitting under the shade of a tree, reading. She’d moved on from _Treasure Island_ to _The Adventures of Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn_.

Steve mentioned to Coulson that he thought he may have a gifted student in his class. He showed Coulson her grades. Coulson seemed impressed. “Wow. Perfect marks on everything. And you say she always finishes way ahead of the class?”

“Every time,” Steve confirmed, leaning over the table, eyebrows creased. “And she’s been reading books that are written at a high school level.”

Coulson raised his eyebrows. “Wow,” he said again. “But is she understanding them?”

Steve frowned at the papers in front of him. “I don’t know.”

“You should find out. Talk to her.”

Steve gathered up his papers and neatened the stack. “What if she does?”

“Then, we’re going to need to have a talk with her parents about potentially moving her to a different class.”

“Like, bumping her up a grade?”

“Or sending her to a different school.”

“You think she’s gifted?”

“I think it’s a distinct possibility.” Coulson took a sip of his coffee. He made a face- the coffee was lukewarm and sub-par. “But maybe she’s just a fast learner.”

“Maybe.” Steve hovered near the table, holding the stack of papers, deep in thought.

“Was there something else?” Coulson prompted.

Steve glanced up at him. “She doesn’t seem interested in the other children.”

Coulson frowned slightly. “You mean she keeps to herself?”

Steve’s mouth narrowed into a grim line. “I’ve never seen her willingly interact with another student.”

Coulson nodded thoughtfully. Then shrugged. “Maybe she’s a savant.”

“You think she has autism?”

Coulson shrugged again. “I’d have to talk to her to find out.”

“I don’t think she’s a savant.”

“You never know…”

“No. I know. She’s not.”

Coulson eyed him carefully. “Are you getting attached to her?”

Steve startled slightly. “I—no. You know I have a strict policy of not picking favorites.”

Coulson watched him as he took another sip of his coffee. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Steve’s mouth formed a grim line. “That’s why I have that policy.”

* * *

The weather had begun to cool. Lucy and Tony’s bickering continued. Tony went home with a black eye one day. Theodore was assigned detention for laughing; Lucy was assigned detention for punching. Lucy spent the entirety of detention sitting as far away from Theodore as possible, and staring darkly in the opposite direction. Theodore spent the majority of detention attempting to make friendly advances towards Lucy, only to be coldly rebuffed. He spent the rest of the time looking like a hurt puppy left out in the rain.

Anya finished reading _The Adventures of Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn_ , _20,000 Leagues Under the Sea_ , and had just begun _Moby Dick_ when Steve pulled her aside during recess one day. “May I speak to you, Anya?” he started congenially.

Anya held up a finger. Her eyes raced back and forth over a few more lines. She picked up her sparkly fish bookmark, placed it reverently between the open pages, and gently closed her book. She met his eyes inquisitively.

“I couldn’t help noticing you’re reading _Moby Dick_ ,” Steve observed. “That’s one of my favorites.”

Anya’s face lit up. “Isn’t it great?!” she enthused. “Ishmael is so brave and adventurous, and the descriptions are so pretty! Ohhh I _love_ Captain Ahab, he’s so crazy and so tragic at the same time! To think how long he’s been chasing after that white whale!”

Steve blinked at her. The bookmark was about one-third of the way through the book. He couldn’t remember how far into the story that last part was mentioned. “Have you read this before?”

She blushed. “No, but I’ve seen the movie. I just _love_ adventure books!”

Steve nodded. “I can see that. Have you been reading novels for long?”

She gave him a funny look. “Yeah… since I was five-and-a-half. Why?”

“How old are you now?”

“Seven-and-a-half,” she stated proudly. “I turn eight in April.”

Steve nodded. “Early in April?”

She sighed. “Okay. So I’m not seven-and-a-half _yet_ , but almost!”

Steve smiled, charmed but trying to hide it. “When’s your birthday?”

“April 17th,” she stated, chin tilting up, smiling a cocky smile.

“That’s a school day,” he observed. “You’ll have to bring in cupcakes.”

Anya grinned. “Of course!”

Steve laughed. “Do you know what kind of cupcakes you’ll be bringing?”

“Chocolate!” Her eyes glinted. “With sprinkles.”

Steve stood, smiling down at her in a way he knew was a touch too fond. _Don’t pick favorites, Rogers. It never ends well._ “My favorite.”

He decided to let Anya get back to her book.

* * *

“She understands every word,” Steve informed Coulson the next day during lunch.

“You’re kidding.”

“No. And what she doesn’t understand, she looks up in the dictionary.” Steve took an aggressive bite of his ham sandwich.

“Huh.” Coulson bit into his sub.

“I’m serious, Coulson. I think she is way ahead of her class!”

Coulson chewed thoughtfully. “But she’s still not making friends?”

“Not yet. Not with anyone except the librarian.”

Coulson chuckled.

Steve gave him a look.

“Sorry.” Coulson wiped some mayonnaise off his chin. “Look, why don’t you talk to her parents?”

“I was planning on it. But what do I say?”

Coulson shrugged one shoulder. “Just tell them she’s too smart.”

“There’s no such thing.”

“All right,” Coulson amended, “Tell them she’s too smart for second grade. Mention we have special classes for girls like her, but she might have to transfer schools.”

Steve didn’t like the idea of Anya transferring schools.

Coulson noticed. “Sure you’re not getting attached?”

“I’m just concerned.”

Coulson eyed him for a long moment. Then switched subjects. “So, how’s your love-life?”

“I’m not interested.”

Coulson rolled his eyes and pushed at Steve’s shoulder with his clean hand. “Not me, Rogers. In general.”

Steve wrapped up the remainder of his sandwich in waxed paper to save for later. “Nonexistent.”

“Want to go clubbing this weekend?”

Steve gave him a look. “No.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

“Invitation’s open, if you change your mind…” Coulson mentioned to Steve’s retreating back.

* * *

It was mid-October. Steve had called Anya’s house three times, at different times, on different days, but no one ever answered. He decided to take a risk and make a house call.

The weather was crisp, the sky autumnal blue, contrasting prettily against the reds and golds of the leaves. Instead of going home after school, he continued on down his street. He could smell the change in the weather. The breeze cut through his beige sweatervest, and the white collared dress-shirt underneath. It bit pleasantly at his pinkened cheeks. The hand in his tweed pants-pocket was warm; the hand holding his briefcase was cold.

He took a few turns, smiled at a few neighbors. The Barnes household wasn’t that far away. And it’s not like he was making an unpleasant house call. What parents wouldn’t want to hear that their student was gifted?

Steve Rogers walked up the worn cement walkway, stepped up onto the cement slab porch, opened the creaky screen door, and knocked three times. The Barneses lived in a one-story brick house with black-and-silver numbers over their door, marking their address. One of the neighbors’ dogs barked across the street. Steve waited.

His breath caught in his throat when the door opened and he found himself staring into the face of who he assumed could only be Mr. Barnes.

The man who opened the door had Anya’s same stubborn jaw, a similarly shaped nose, and exactly the same eyebrows. But his jaw was shaded with dark brown stubble, which made that familiar cleft chin look absolutely devastating. His eyes were piercing gray-blue, like the sky before a snowstorm, and shaded by the most beautiful black eyelashes Steve had ever seen. The man’s hair was darker than his daughter’s, but had the same thickness and light wave to it. It was cut shorter on the sides and longer on the top, where it was styled so that it stuck up in an unruly pattern. Or maybe that was because the man smelled as though he was fresh out of the shower. Steve’s eyes drifted lower and took in the dark gray t-shirt that clung to him in all the right places. His eyes caught momentarily on the man’s hardened nipples; hardened, no doubt, by the cool autumn breeze which both of them had forgotten. The man was wearing a pair of dark blue jeans that no father should look that good in.

“May I help you?” the man said roughly, eyes taking in the incredibly dorky outfit before him, covering what he could only assume was the most sinful body he’d ever seen, if that hip-to-shoulder ratio was anything like that sweatervest seemed to indicate. Those thick black-rimmed glasses were doing this guy all the right kinds of favors. He looked so innocent, Bucky wanted to know exactly how he sounded shouting out obscenities.

Steve cleared his throat. “Um. I’m… Anya’s teacher.”

Bucky frowned and crossed his arms. “Yeah? Is there a problem?” His eyes flashed threateningly.

“No! No problem, sir.”

“Then why are you here?” Bucky’s voice was sharp. “I’ll have you know my daughter is the sweetest, most well-behaved child I’ve ever seen. She never talks back, never acts out. She’s a perfect little angel. So if you’re here to reprimand me about my child, you’ve got another thing coming.”

“No! Wait!” Steve grabbed the door which Mr. Barnes had begun to close. “It’s nothing like that! I just—look, it’s getting cold. Would you mind if I come in?”

Bucky narrowed his eyes suspiciously. Then glanced behind Steve, stared intensely into his eyes for a long moment, and stepped aside to let Steve in.

“You’re her father, right?” Steve asked, grateful when Mr. Barnes closed the door.

“Yeah. Bucky.” He stared at Steve as though daring him to dispute this.

“Uh. Steve,” he replied. He held out his hand tentatively.

Bucky ignored it. “So what’s this about my daughter?”

Steve was staring uncertainly at Bucky’s folded arms. He slowly lowered his hand.

Bucky sighed and rolled his eyes. He held out his left arm. “Yeah yeah. I know.” He turned it this way and that, showing off the prosthetic. “Got blown off in an accident. It’s a prosthetic. We good?” He raised his eyebrows, eyes challenging and weary at the same time, as though he was tired of explaining. Because, well, he was.

“Oh,” Steve responded, not sure what to say.

Bucky rolled his eyes again. “I lost it in the war, okay?”

“The war?”

Bucky’s expression turned cold. “Yeah. Iraq. I got drafted.”

“Me too,” Steve said soberly.

Bucky blinked in surprise, coldness falling away. “Wait. You too?”

Steve nodded. “What rank?”

“Sergeant.”

“Captain.”

Bucky whistled. “Pleasure to meet you, Cap.”

Steve gave him a grim smile. “Pleased to meet you, Sarge. –You said you lost your arm in an accident?”

“Car bomb.”

Steve winced.

“Yeah. I know.”

“If it makes you feel better, I was declared dead.”

“No kidding.” Bucky’s arms were folded more loosely now as he leaned against the wall.

Steve scratched at the back of his neck self-consciously. “Yeah. Flew a plane behind enemy lines. But the plane was shot down, and I had to go into hiding. I was declared M.I.A.”

Bucky let out another low whistle. “And they didn’t send anyone out to rescue you?”

“Nope,” Steve confirmed. “They thought I was dead.”

“Damn. Well, I was actually _almost_ dead, when my arm got blown off. So we’re sort of even.”

Steve’s mouth tilted up on one side, eyes sympathetic. “Looks like they fixed you up all right.”

Bucky flexed his prosthetic arm. “Yeah, well. It makes up for what they did to me after I was captured.”

“You were _captured?!”_

“Yup.”

Steve’s wide baby blues were filled with so much sympathy Bucky almost wanted to hug him.

“And tortured,” he added.

Steve’s sympathy was palpable. “Mister Barnes…”

“Bucky,” he corrected. “And hey, it’s okay. I was rescued. Some guy they called Captain America.”

Steve’s pupils shrank to pinpricks as his eyes bugged out. “Bucky! That was me!”

Bucky frowned and stood up straighter. “Get out.”

“No really, that was me!”

Bucky looked him up and down. “No way.”

“I could show you my medal of honor, but I left it at home,” Steve stated somewhat drily, but mostly sincere.

Bucky squinted. “Were you wearing the glasses?”

“No, I had contacts.”

“Why’d you switch?”

“They bothered my eyes.”

“Take off your glasses.”

Steve examined Bucky, skeptical, then slowly reached up and removed his glasses. Bucky stepped closer and squinted at him. Steve blushed under his scrutiny.

“Well,” Bucky concluded, stepping back, “I still don’t recognize you. But your face was probably dirty, and I was drugged-up as fuck, so.” Bucky shrugged. “Who knows.”

Steve replaced his glasses and gave Bucky another sympathetic look. “I’m sorry…”

Bucky’s mouth tilted up on one side. “What’re you sorry for? You rescued me!” He clapped Steve on the shoulder and headed for the kitchen. “You want a beer? I could really use a beer right now.”

Steve stood in the doorway, debating internally.

Bucky pulled two beers out of the fridge and held one out towards Steve.

“Thanks.” He took the beer.

* * *

One hour later, they were on their second beers, and Steve had learned that Bucky had been married, but was now divorced.

“Her name was Natasha,” Bucky explained, gesturing with his good hand- and by extension, his beer bottle- as he spoke. “We met in college. Bonded over Russian history. I don’t know why, Russia just always sounded cool to me. And she was hot. I asked her out, she said yes. You know how it goes.” He gave Steve a look that begged to be agreed with.

“Yeah,” Steve agreed, not divulging yet just how much he did know how it goes.

Bucky sighed and looked at the ceiling. “We fell in love. Got married. Had the kid.” He huffed a bitter laugh. “And then I got drafted.” He was silent for a moment, swishing around the beer in his glass bottle, watching it go round and round. He took a long sip and continued. “Apparently Nat wasn’t so hot on being a single parent.”

“What do you mean?” Steve prompted, leaning on the edge of his chair.

Bucky gave the ceiling a bitter smile. “She had this friend. Clint. From high school.” He paused and took another sip of his beer. “He came over to visit while I was gone. Apparently they got on rather well.” He stared sullenly into his beer. “He told her he was in love with her.”

Steve watched him steadily, beer bottle sweating in his hand. “And then what?”

Bucky shrugged and looked at him. “She loved him too.”

Steve waited for Bucky to continue.

Bucky broke eye contact and took another sip of his beer, emptying it. “Apparently he was a big help with the kid.” He stood abruptly. “Do you want another beer? I need another beer.”

Steve held up his half-full bottle. “Nah. I’m good.”

“I’m gonna get another beer.” Bucky disappeared into the kitchen.

Steve waited, listening to the glass being rinsed out in the sink, the clink of the glass bottle being set in the dish drainer, the cold gasp of the fridge opening, the hiss and pop of Bucky opening another bottle. Bucky re-emerged, taking a long sip out of his newest bottle of beer. He took his seat on the couch and propped up his feet on the coffee table. Bucky had well-shaped feet; Steve could tell, even through his dark gray socks.

“I came back to him in bed with her,” Bucky announced.

Steve’s face instantly returned to its look of intense sympathy.

Bucky looked as though he had been expecting this and broke eye contact again. “In my bed, no less. So I kicked her out. She said she was sorry. I don’t believe her. She packed up her stuff, moved out with Clint. Last I knew, they were in Brazil.”

“Brazil?”

Bucky pulled a face. “He’s a nature photographer. For National Geographic.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. They travel a lot. Send us postcards. Anya likes ’em, otherwise I’d throw ’em out.”

“How old was Anya when this happened?”

“Two.”

Steve gave Bucky a long, sympathetic look. “Well, that makes my story sound a lot less sad.”

“No, no. I wanna hear it. What’s yours?” Bucky leaned towards him.

Steve’s mouth formed a small, self-deprecating smile. “Nothin’ special.”

Bucky grabbed Steve’s closest knee and gave it a shake. “You’re _Captain America_. Of course you’re special. Now spill.”

Steve’s smile warmed. He contemplated his beer for a moment. “Her name was Peggy.”

Bucky grinned and settled comfortably. “Now we’re getting somewhere!”

Steve’s smile faded. “Yeah, well. Not really.”

“No, tell me.”

Steve stared reflectively into his beer. “We were high school sweethearts.” He swished his beer around. “I was just thinking about proposing to her when I got drafted for the war.”

Bucky gave him a grim, sympathetic look. “She didn’t wait for you to get back.”

Steve smiled grimly. “She had this neighbor, Howard Stark.”

 _“The_ Howard Stark?”

 _“The_ Howard Stark,” Steve agreed.

Bucky whistled. “He moved in on your girl?”

“Well, she’s not my girl anymore.”

Bucky patted Steve’s wrist sympathetically.

“In fact, I’m teaching their child.”

“Get out.”

“No, he’s in my class. His name is Tony.”

Bucky whistled. “Shit.”

“Daddy?” Anya said.

Both men turned.

Anya was standing in the doorway, holding a book to her chest. “My library books are due tomorrow.” She glanced curiously at Steve. “Hi, Mr. Rogers.”

Steve waved as casually as possible, while still maintaining that I’m-a-professional aura. This was very difficult, between the vulnerable conversation, the beer, and the odd way he was feeling.

“Okay, sweet pea,” Bucky replied. “Put a note on the refrigerator.”

“Okay. Thanks, Dad.” She glanced between the two of them with eyes that were far too observant, then turned and walked to the kitchen.

Both men waited until they heard her exit the kitchen, and the door to her room clicked shut.

Steve glanced at his watch. “Oh!” He sat up straighter. “It’s already past six o’clock! I really need to get going.”

Bucky sat up. “I could drive you home.”

Steve frowned. “What? No! You’ve been drinking.”

“So’ve you.”

“I walked.”

Bucky squinted at him. “You’re gonna _walk_ home?”

“Yes. That’s how I got here.”

Bucky blew out a breath between pursed lips, causing them to buzz. “Well, at least let me walk you to the door.”

Steve smiled warmly at him. “Sure thing, Buck.”

Bucky sat up straighter, eyes widening. “Who said you could call me that?”

Steve backed down immediately, holding up his hands in surrender. “No one! I just—it just slipped out!”

Bucky stood. “No. I like it.”

Steve’s eyebrows drew together in confusion.

Bucky swayed slightly on his feet. He patted Steve on the chest, smiling goofily. “I like it!” he repeated. “You c’n call me that any time you want.”

Steve smiled fondly-but-wryly at him. “Go home, Bucky. You’re drunk.”

“I only had three beers!”

“With no food.”

“So?!”

“You’re definitely a little drunk, Buck.”

“Nonsense!”

Steve shook his head, smile warming. “Whatever you say.”

Bucky walked him, somewhat clumsily, to the door. “We’ve gotta do this again sometime.”

Steve realized suddenly that he’d completely neglected to talk about the one thing he’d come there to talk about. “Yeah. Yeah we do.”

Bucky grinned. “Same time next week?”

Steve thought over his schedule for a bit. “That should work.”

“Great!” Bucky clapped him on the back. “See you then.”

* * *

Steve called Bucky the next day to confirm their appointment. He didn’t want to take the chance that Bucky had been too inebriated to remember the details of their conversation, and show up uninvited at the Barnes house twice in a row.

Bucky answered on the first ring.

His voice was low and sexy and caused these weird electric chills to shiver up Steve’s back, and heat to curl in his belly. Bucky had a slight mumble which made him sound perpetually sleepy. Steve found his voice way too sexy.

Steve went about the conversation as calmly as possible, stating that he wanted to make sure their appointment was marked on Bucky’s calendar.

“That eager to see me, huh?”

Steve blushed. “I just wanted to make sure you remembered.”

“I wasn’t _that_ drunk, Rogers.”

“I just wanted to make sure!”

Bucky laughed. His beautiful voice echoed through whatever room he was in. “Sure thing, Rogers,” he teased. “Hey. How do you feel about Chinese food?”

“I—neutral?” Steve replied uncertainly.

“Great. You a vegetarian or anything?”

“No.”

“Any allergies I should know about?”

“No—?”

“Great! See you Friday.”

Bucky hung up without another word, grinning to himself.

Steve was left staring at his phone, face pink, heart racing, wondering what just happened.

* * *

Bucky had ordered takeout.

Steve wasn’t sure how he felt about this. The containers were all sitting on the coffee table in the living room, waiting to be opened. Bucky led him straight to the fridge. “Tonight, we drink wine.” He took out a bottle of white wine and uncorked it.

“But, Bucky-!”

“Up-up-up!” Bucky tutted him, cutting him off with a waggle of his finger. “My treat.” He poured two glasses of wine and handed one to Steve. “Cheers!” He clinked the glasses together and took a sip, then led him to the living room. He sat on the couch.

Steve sat in the same chair as last time. “Bucky, about your daughter,” Steve began.

Bucky cut him off. “Eat!” He tossed him a pair of chopsticks. “And uh. You may want to sit a little closer. Y’know. So you can reach.” He patted the spot next to him on the sofa.

Steve stood carefully and tentatively sat next to Bucky on the couch, watching him the whole time.

Bucky started opening containers. “This one’s kung pao chicken, this one’s shrimp fried rice, and that one’s some tofu thing I forgot the name of. Help yourself!”

“Aren’t—aren’t we going to eat off of plates?”

“Nope!” Bucky pulled a container towards him and dove in. “Eat!” He nudged Steve with his knee.

Steve swallowed, fighting back a blush, and started to eat.

Bucky turned on the television. It was on the science channel. “Anya must’ve been watching it,” Bucky stated, changing the channel. “She loves that stuff.” A comedian started telling stupid jokes. Bucky changed the channel again. National Geographic. Bucky changed the channel again. “There we go!”

Steve stared at the logo in the bottom right. “The history channel?”

Bucky shoved his mouthful into his cheek. “That okay?”

“That’s my favorite!”

Bucky clapped him on the back. “Well all right then!”

Bucky got progressively buzzed on his alcohol. The two of them discussed their favorite television programs, their favorite movies. Every time Steve tried to talk about his daughter, Bucky changed the subject. They finished off the bottle of white wine.

Bucky tossed out the empty takeout containers and brought out a small container of chocolate fondue and a plateful of strawberries. He returned to the kitchen and came back with two fresh glasses and an open bottle of dark red wine. He poured them each a glass and clinked their glasses again before taking the first sip.

Steve stared uncertainly at the strawberries.

“What? Doesn’t the Captain like fondue?”

Steve blushed. “No, I do, I just—how are you still hungry?”

“Aren’t you?”

“Well, yeah, but—,”

“Then eat!” Bucky pushed the plate of strawberries closer to Steve. “I told you, it’s my treat.”

Steve sighed. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

“Eat!”

“I’m serious, Bucky!” He set his wine glass on the table and faced Bucky Barnes. “Is this some sort of survivor thing? Because I rescued you? Because I didn’t even know it was you, I would have rescued anyone. And I did. Four hundred of them. And none of the rest of them have thanked me like this, so I don’t know why you feel obligated to, but I’m telling you right now, this is unnecessary!”

Bucky had dipped a strawberry in fondue while Steve was talking. He held it up to Steve’s mouth, smirking. “Eat!”

“Bucky—!”

As soon as Steve opened his mouth, Bucky shoved in the strawberry, holding onto the leaves at the top. Steve’s closed his teeth around the berry, his lips brushing Bucky’s fingers. A light flush spread across Steve’s cheeks. A jolt of heat flashed through Bucky, who slowly pulled his hand away and discarded the strawberry top. “You’re welcome,” Bucky stated in his sexy-sleepy half-mumble, reaching for another strawberry.

Steve chewed and swallowed the admittedly delicious strawberry. “You don’t have to feed me.”

“Yeah. But it’s fun.” He popped a strawberry into his own mouth and dipped another one. He held this one up to Steve’s lips, a grin spreading across his face.

“Bu—,” Steve was cut off again by a strawberry entering his mouth. Again, his teeth closed. Again, his lips brushed against Bucky’s fingers. Again, the heat.

Bucky spied a smear of chocolate on Steve’s plush lower lip. He stared at it hungrily.

“Can I feed myself my own strawberries now?” Steve asked, voice breathy.

“Yeah,” Bucky allowed, immediately regretting it. He wanted to feed Steve the entire plate of strawberries. He watched Steve’s capable-looking hands pluck a strawberry from the plate, dip it in fondue, and bring the strawberry up to his lips. When Steve drew his hand away, there was a bigger smear of chocolate on his lips. Bucky didn’t realize he was staring.

“Strawberry?” Steve offered, reminding Bucky.

“Yeah,” Bucky replied in a voice that was _way_ too sexy.

Steve raised an eyebrow. “You want me to feed _you_ now?” he joked.

 _“Yeah_ ,” Bucky agreed, voice breathy and low, pupils darkening.

Steve swallowed. He reached over to the plate of strawberries, picked one up, slowly dipped it in the fondue, watching as the chocolate settled against the surface of the berry, filling in all of the dents with the seeds, watching the little trail of chocolate left behind as he lifted the strawberry out of the fondue. He swallowed as he brought the strawberry in an arc, over their laps, and up to Bucky’s parted lips. “Open up,” Steve said quietly, face warm. Bucky opened his mouth a little wider, staring at Steve’s hand. Steve concentrated on breathing properly as he gently pushed the berry against Bucky’s lips. Bucky enveloped the berry in his warm, wet mouth. His full pink lips brushed against Steve’s fingers as his mouth closed. Steve drew his hand away slowly to discard the leaves, staring at the chocolate smear on Bucky’s lips.

Bucky chewed and swallowed, staring at Steve’s lips. He started leaning closer.

Steve sat back and cleared his throat. “I think that’s enough berries for now.” His cheeks were a pretty shade of pink. He stared at the ceiling, away from Bucky.

“No. We’ve gotta eat the whole plate,” Bucky insisted, voice low and breathy.

Steve’s fists tightened in his lap. “All right. Fine. But we eat our _own_ berries.”

“But I like feeding you,” Bucky whined.

Steve prayed for strength. “Bucky. You’re drunk.”

“No I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’ve only had three glasses of wine!”

“So have I.”

“Yeah! And?”

Steve looked away. 

Bucky slid closer to him on the couch. “Wanna make out?”

Steve turned scarlet and jumped away. “Bucky!”

“What? It’s not gonna hurt anyone.”

“Bucky!”

“Nothin’ serious…” He rested his hand on Steve’s upper arm, cupping his bicep. _Ohhhh damn._

Steve stood and straightened his outfit unnecessarily. “Goodbye, Bucky.”

“Steve!”

“I’ll talk to you when you’re sober.”

“I’m not even that drunk!”

Steve shook his head. “You’re halfway through your second bottle of wine.”

“You _helped!”_

Steve was actually not a very good judge of how drunk anyone was, since he’d never been drunk himself. He drank because he liked the taste, but in order for him to actually get any effects from alcohol, he had to basically chug it on an empty stomach, and he went straight from sober to borderline alcohol poisoning without the fun buzzy part that everyone else claimed to feel. But he didn’t want to take chances. “I’ll see you later, Bucky.”

“You can’t just _leave!”_

“Good-bye.”

“Steve!!”

Steve gave Bucky’s shoulder a gentle, reassuring squeeze, then walked out the door.

* * *

It started raining on his way home.

Steve didn’t have an umbrella.

And it was cold- one of those cold, October rains.

So it’s no surprise that Steve caught a cold.

* * *

“I’m Nick Fury, I’m your substitute teacher, and I will be taking _none_ of your sh—enanigans! So sit tight, do your homework, and hopefully none of you will get suspended!”

A little girl started crying at the back of the class.

“Shut it!” He glared at everyone. “Does anyone have any questions?”

Tony raised his hand.

Fury glared at him suspiciously.

“Are you a pirate?”

Fury drew himself up into his most intimidating stance. “No.” Kids always had smart-ass questions about the eyepatch. “Does anyone _else_ have any questions?”

The class cowered.

“Good!”

* * *

“Hello?” Steve croaked from his bed. His phone had been ringing.

“Steve? Steve! It’s Bucky.”

“Hey,” Steve said tiredly.

“Where are you?! Anya said you weren’t in class today!”

“No. I’m sick.”

“Why didn’t you answer my calls this weekend? Where were you?!”

“Sorry. Didn’t know what to say…”

“Did you get my messages?”

Steve groaned and wiped a hand over his face. “Yes.”

Bucky breathed for a moment. “Why didn’t you answer them?”

“Didn’t know what to say…”

“Steve!”

“Bucky, I’m sick.” His head was throbbing and he just wanted to sleep.

“Where do you live?”

“No.”

“Fine, I’ll look you up. I’ll be right over.”

“Bucky—,” but Bucky had already hung up. Steve replaced the phone in its cradle and went back to sleep.

* * *

Steve woke up to the smell of chicken noodle soup. Under that was a woody, musky scent, just barely detectable, but all too familiar. He squinted blearily at the man sitting in the chair next to his bed.

“Hey,” Bucky greeted, unfolding his long, black-jean-clad legs.

Steve groaned. “I told you I’m sick.”

“Yeah, you are. And I’m gonna take care of you, punk. So deal with it. Here, sit up. I brought you some soup.” Bucky held a container near Steve’s face.

Steve groaned again and covered his face.

Bucky retrieved the soup, setting it on the bedside table. “All right, fine. I’ll help you sit up.” He reached around Steve’s large broad shoulders, clad in an open plaid pajama top- light blue with white and lavender stripes- and pulled Steve into a sitting position.

Steve scooted backwards on the bed until he was leaning against the headboard.

Bucky propped Steve’s pillow under his back and settled his blanket around him, then sat next to him on the bed, facing him, and brought the soup over again. “Now open your mouth.”

“Bucky,” Steve objected.

“What? Are you pukey? ‘Cause this goes down really easy, I promise.”

“I can feed myself.”

“Yeah, but see, the thing is, you don’t have to. Now, put your sweaty arms back under that blanket and open your mouth. Do you need any medicine?”

“Bucky,” Steve objected, more softly.

“Put your arms back under there! Do you need any medicine?” he repeated.

Steve sighed and put his arms back under the blanket. Bucky tucked it up under his chin, hands lingering ever so slightly. Steve shook his head. “I’m not due until six.”

Bucky checked the clock. “Another hour then. Okay. Where is it?”

“I can get my own medicine, Buck.”

Bucky shushed him, pressing his fingers against those hot, plush lips. “Whoa there. You running a fever?”

Steve sighed. “Yes.” He sniffled. This produced a dry, stuffy sound. His garbage was full of used Kleenex.

Bucky noticed this. “You sure you don’t need more medicine? Because I can totally get you some.”

“Bucky, I’m fine.”

“No you’re not. Now open your mouth.”

Steve rolled his eyes and obliged. Bucky spooned some soup into Steve’s open mouth. Steve chewed and swallowed. Bucky was waiting with another spoonful. Steve rolled his eyes again and took in the spoonful.

“You gonna roll your pretty little eyes with every bite?”

“They’re not little.”

Bucky took advantage of Steve’s open mouth and shoved in more soup. “But they _are_ pretty.”

Steve chewed and swallowed, not bothering to object. He opened his mouth. Bucky shoveled in more soup.

“By the way,” Bucky said while Steve chewed and swallowed, and while he fed him another bite, “this isn’t because you saved my life. Just so you know.”

When Steve’s mouth was empty again, Bucky gave him time to answer. “Well, why is it then?”

“My daughter likes you.” He fed Steve between sentences.

“Likes me?”

“Yeah. They have this substitute teacher. Anya got sent home with a note today. Says she refused to participate in a group activity. Except, the way _she_ tells it, she _would_ have participated, except that she was assigned to a group that wouldn’t _cooperate_ , and she couldn’t get a word in edgewise, so she got frustrated and let them sort it out. And I can’t blame her! What kind of bullshit teacher doesn’t even listen to his students? Asshole.”

“Well. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, kind of.”

“The asshole substitute teacher?”

“No. Anya’s… she doesn’t interact with the other students, much.”

Bucky shrugged. “Never has. She’s got a mind of her own. She’ll make friends. Don’t worry about it.”

“But I _am_ worried. She needs to interact with other human beings, Buck. It’s an integral part of the human experience.”

“They teach you that in some bullshit workshop of yours? –Look, I know my daughter. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“But Bucky—,”

“Don’t ‘but Bucky’ me. I know what I’m talking about. Now open your damn mouth.”

Bucky fed him the rest of the soup without either of them speaking. He set the empty container aside on the bedstand and checked the clock. “Half an hour till your medicine. I’ll wash this in the sink.” He glanced at Steve to make sure this was okay. Steve silently gave permission.

* * *

Bucky returned to the room half an hour later, medicine in-hand. “Did your dishes for you,” he said by way of explanation. “I’m assuming this is the stuff?”

Steve glanced at the bottle and nodded.

“All right.” Bucky poured out the appropriate amount of pills, as instructed on the bottle, and handed them to Steve along with the glass of water.

“Not gonna feed me the pills?” Steve teased.

“Shut it, punk.”

Steve grinned weakly and took the pills and water. He swallowed the pills and chased them down with more water. Then set the glass on his bedside table.

Bucky stood there, fidgeting.

Steve stared at him for a long moment. Neither of them said anything.

Steve broke the silence. “Why _are_ you here, Bucky?”

Bucky sat down on the edge of Steve’s bed again, facing him. “Maybe my daughter isn’t the only one who likes you.”

Steve’s mouth twitched in a weak imitation of a smile. “And you couldn’t wait to tell me until I was better?”

Bucky gestured around them. “With the way your house looks right now? You should be _glad_ I’m over!”

Steve’s smile became more genuine. “I _am_ glad you’re here,” he said softly.

“Then what are you complaining for!”

“I’m not complaining. I’m just asking.”

Bucky sighed. “Do I have to spell it out for you?”

Steve waited.

Bucky scraped a hand over his face. “All right, fine. You’re the first person I’ve talked to about the war, about Nat leaving me. About all of that, since it happened and I had to explain to everybody why I wasn’t married anymore.”

“So… you’re here because you confided in me, and you feel like you owe me something?”

Bucky let out a frustrated groan. “No! That’s not what this is about! I’m here because I _like_ you. My _daughter_ likes you. And _you_ like my daughter. I can tell,” he added when Steve tried to object. “And… well, I couldn’t help noticing you don’t wear a ring or anything, and you seem to live alone…”

“I do.”

Bucky met Steve’s eyes.

“I live alone,” Steve clarified.

“Well. Then you can use the company.”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed in that same tone, eyes half-closed.

“You going to sleep on me now? ‘Cause I’d kind of like an answer.”

“What are you saying, Buck.”

Bucky leaned a little closer and swept Steve’s sweaty hair off his forehead. “I’m _saying_ , if you’re not busy Friday, and if you’re feeling up to it, I’d love to take you out for a drink or something. Or stay in for a drink. Or something.”

“Are you asking me out on a _date?”_

“Yes.”

Steve examined Bucky’s face.

Bucky continued, somewhat nervously, “I’ve already hired a babysitter. Either way, I’m going somewhere on Friday. But it would be awfully nice if you were there with me.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Where were you gonna go if I said no?”

Bucky shrugged one shoulder. “A bar. Get drunk. So is that a no?”

Steve shook his head fondly. “I said _if_ I said no.”

Bucky perked up. “So that’s a yes?”

Steve smiled. “I’ll think about it.”

Bucky slumped and played with his hands nervously. “So… that’s a _maybe_ yes?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I’ll call you.”

Bucky stood, feeling as though he was being dismissed. “Oh. Okay. So… want me to come back tomorrow?”

“Bucky, you’re gonna get yourself sick.”

“I have a strong immune system!” He knocked himself on the chest with both hands. “I’ll be fine.”

Steve shook his head slowly, eyes mostly closed. “So do I.”

“You got sick walking home in the rain, didn’t you. Dammit Steve! You’ve gotta start _driving_ places! No more of this walking crap! It’s too cold for that!”

Steve didn’t say anything, just smiled with his eyes closed.

Bucky sighed, pulled Steve down to a more horizontal position, and tucked him in. He started to walk away, then turned around and planted a soft kiss on Steve’s forehead. “Feel better, punk.”

* * *

Steve was feeling better by Friday. His class was very glad to have him back. He noticed, sadly, that Anya was absent. Tony promptly spoke up and volunteered the information that Anya had thrown up in class yesterday. Steve gripped his desk hard and schooled his expression not to look _too_ sympathetic or concerned. Tony launched into detail about exactly when and where she’d ‘blown chunks,’ which people had been nearby, everyone’s facial expressions, the noises she made, the colors— “That’s enough, Tony!” Steve said sharply, shutting him up. Tony started snickering.

Steve watched his class carefully that day. The girl who sat across from Anya had the sniffles. Lucy looked especially pale. But then, Lucy was always pale.

Lucy threw up on Tony during recess. Tony started crying. Lucy looked vaguely pleased with herself. Steve sent them both home.

Once he was home, he called Bucky Barnes. “I missed your daughter in school today.”

“Yeah well.” Bucky sniffled. “Guess my immune system isn’t as great as I thought.”

“Need any soup?”

“God yes.”

* * *

Steve showed up two hours later with some homemade chicken noodle soup. Bucky was somewhat pale, with dark circles under his eyes, and was wrapped up in a blue snuggie. His daughter was lounging languidly on the easy chair in her pajamas. She was pale too, and had a bucket sitting on the floor next to her, and a Gatorade on the table in front of her. The television was showing an old episode of Bill Nye the Science Guy.

“It’s a marathon,” Bucky explained, shivering and closing the door behind Steve.

“Did I make too much?” Steve asked, indicating the soup.

“No such thing.” Bucky ushered Steve to the couch and snuggled up to him. “Feed me?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “What is it with you and feeding people?”

“It’s comforting. Feed me?”

Steve chuckled. He opened the container and poured some into one of the bowls he’d brought, then spooned some into Bucky’s mouth. He glanced at Anya over his shoulder. “Do you want some, too?”

Anya shook her head weakly.

Steve’s chest clenched.

“More, please,” Bucky demanded.

Steve continued feeding Bucky patiently. “Is she doing any better today?”

“No. But she’ll get better soon. We Barneses are fast healers.”

Anya burped.

Bucky glanced at her. “You all right, sweetheart?”

Anya got out of her chair and shuffled to the bathroom, not answering.

Steve ignored the sounds barely muffled by the closed door.

“You’re not pukey, are you?” he asked Bucky.

Bucky smiled crookedly. “Nope. Just sniffly.”

Steve fed him another spoonful. “…Do you need me to stay all weekend?”

“You don’t have to.” Bucky took in another spoonful, chewed and swallowed. “Would be nice.”

Steve smiled softly at him.

“You know,” Bucky said wryly, “this isn’t how I pictured our first date going.”

Steve’s smile warmed. “Eat your soup.” He shoved in another spoonful.

Bucky swallowed and grinned.

* * *

Steve did end up staying the weekend. He returned home for changes of clothes, promised he’d be back, and true to his word, he was back within the hour. He slept on the couch with Bucky, as though they’d known each other their whole lives.

Anya didn’t even seem to think it was strange that her teacher was there. She treated him as though he was already part of the family.

By Sunday evening, Bucky’s sniffles were almost completely gone, Anya was eating again, their fevers had gone down, and the three of them were nodding off watching re-runs of The Magic School Bus when Steve looked at his watch and said “I have work tomorrow.”

Anya was cuddled up on his right. She snuggled up to him at the same time that Bucky cuddled closer to him on his left. “Awww, do we _have_ to?” she borderline whined, pouting. Anya had the cutest pout. Steve resolutely did not look.

“Yes, Anya. We have to.”

“I don’t _wanna!”_ came a childish voice on Steve’s left as Bucky buried his nose against Steve’s shoulder.

Steve chuckled. “But we have to!”

“Come back tomorrow?” Anya pleaded.

“You’ll see me tomorrow,” Steve chided. “I’m your teacher. Remember?”

Anya nuzzled his chest. “So?”

Bucky wrapped himself closer around Steve. “We could all play hooky,” he suggested.

“No!” He was being cuddled on both sides by adorable Barneses and he was having a hard time resisting their charm. He couldn’t stop smiling. “I need to go home.”

“Can’t you leave early and pick up your school stuff on the way to school?” Bucky pleaded childishly from his place buried against Steve’s left pectoral.

“Yeah,” Anya agreed from her place buried against Steve’s right pectoral. “Can’t you?”

Steve sighed and started petting their hair. “All right. Just this once though.”

“Yaaaay!” both of them said at the same time, hugging him tighter.

Steve chuckled.

Bucky tried sending Anya off to bed around nine, but she came back fifteen minutes later to find her teacher’s glasses next to her father’s arm on the coffee table. Her father and her teacher were cuddled close together on the couch, slowly caressing each other’s faces all over with their noses, eyes mostly closed. Her father’s breath hitched. He nuzzled closer.

“Can I sleep with you guys?” she pleaded.

Bucky jumped. He and Steve opened their eyes and exchanged a glance. Bucky glanced at her over his shoulder, taking in her stance. Her pout. He closed his eyes and sighed. “All right. On the arm chair.”

“No, I mean… Can you pull out the sofa?”

Steve gave Bucky a curious look.

Bucky sighed. “She means the sofa bed,” he explained quietly. Bucky sat up, rubbing his eyes. “All right. Fine. Just this once.”

He and Steve got off the couch and moved the coffee table so they could open the sofa bed. They moved the blankets, threw on a couple pillows, and the three of them crawled into bed. Steve was in the middle. Bucky slept on Steve’s right, with his good arm draped around Steve. Anya slept on Steve’s left, with her cheek against his heartbeat.

* * *

Steve tried not to show Anya any favoritism in school the next day- he steadfastly ignored her warm glances, her smiles- but Anya took it the wrong way. She tugged on his coat sleeve during recess and asked him if she did something wrong.

“No!” Steve said softly, bending down so their faces were closer. “Of course you didn’t. I just don’t want the other students to pick on you.”

Her eyebrows- so like her father’s!- creased. “Why would they pick on me?”

Steve sighed softly, breath coming out in a swirling puff. “They might start calling you teacher’s pet.”

“Because you’re in love with my dad?”

Steve stood up straight, eyes wide. “What?!”

She stared steadily at him with those intelligent brown eyes. “You’re in love with my dad.”

“I—I—!” Steve spluttered. His face turned red. “I’m—! That’s—!” He heard Tony and Lucy arguing again. He glanced over at them. He took half a step towards them, but was halted by a tug on his sleeve.

“Daddy loves you too,” she said with complete certainty.

“We haven’t—Look, you can’t know that! We’ve only just met!”

This didn’t faze Anya at all. “I can tell,” she stated. Her gaze made Steve squirm.

“Thanks,” he said, without knowing why. Anya seemed satisfied with this. So Steve walked, possibly a little too quickly, over to Tony and Lucy, to break up their latest argument.

* * *

Steve meant to ask Bucky on a proper date. He really did. But it seemed that every day, he somehow found himself at the Barneses’ house. Grading papers on the couch while Anya did homework or read in the easy chair, or while Anya and Bucky watched the science or history channel, became his daily routine. They treated him like family, as though they had always known him. And for reasons Steve could not explain, this felt completely natural. What felt strange was the odd night when he would find himself alone in his own house, with no sound except perhaps the churning of the washing machine, or the beep of the answering machine indicating that he’d missed several phone calls while staying at the Barnes residence.

Some nights, Steve managed to sleep in his own bed, but more and more, he found that he didn’t want to. His own house felt so empty. The Barneses’ couch might not be as comfortable as his own bed, but it wasn’t by much, and having both familiar bodies pressed against his as he slept had become so comfortable, he felt lonely without them.

The nights that he did spend at the Barnes residence became increasingly interesting as the obvious tension between Steve and Bucky only grew with time. Bucky would wait until he heard the door to Anya’s room click shut, then he would start nuzzling Steve’s face and running his good hand over Steve’s arm, tracing his muscles. He would just be starting this sensual exploration when Anya would wander back in and ask to sleep with them again.

Bucky became increasingly frustrated with this.

He worked his way up to rubbing his lips, ever-so-lightly, against Steve’s, not quite kissing, just barely touching. He loved the way Steve’s breaths would shudder, the way his plush pink lips would part, the way his eyes would flutter shut.

He did _not_ love the way Anya always seemed to give them about five minutes alone before showing up and interrupting. 

So he hired a babysitter for the weekend and asked Steve to spend the evening at _his_ house instead.

Steve raised his eyebrow and asked if Bucky was sure he didn’t want a proper date.

Bucky snorted. “We’re practically married. May as well get it over with.”

Steve blinked rapidly at him, heart racing. “Was—is that a proposal?!”

Bucky shrugged. “Maybe. We’ll see.”

“Bucky-!”

“What! I said we’ll see.”

“Bucky!!”

“What!”

Steve pulled him into a tight hug. He buried his face against Bucky’s neck and hugged him as tightly as he could.

Bucky stroked Steve’s back soothingly. “Hey… it’s okay, Big Guy. You don’t have to marry me if you don’t want to. But please, stick around for the kid!” This last part was half-joking.

“Bucky,” Steve said, eyes emotional behind those nerdy, ridiculous glasses. “I want to.”

Bucky smiled warmly. “We can wait. You know. To make sure.”

“Of course we’ll wait!” Steve exclaimed as though doing things any other way would be ludicrous. “But I want to.”

Bucky’s smile turned sappy. He hugged Steve tightly. They were standing in Steve’s living room. They held each other for a long moment. Then Bucky slowly backed his face away and met Steve’s eyes, heart pounding. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to do since the first moment I saw you,” Bucky confessed.

“Yeah?” Steve asked, slightly breathless. “What’s that?”

Bucky closed the distance between their mouths and kissed him.

* * *

* * *

 

It was the morning after Anya’s ninth birthday, just barely morning anymore. Almost noon.

The sleepover had been exciting. Lucy had confessed she had a crush on Tony. Raven proudly showed them her new budding breasts. Anya had raised her own shirt to compare- hers were just starting to bud too. Ororo had braided all their hair; her hands were so soothing! And they had stayed up past eleven watching Disney movies and eating homemade trail mix.

Ororo’s mom had tried calling the Barnes residence, but there had been no answer.

Anya walked up the familiar cement walkway, breathing in the warm April air. She opened the door and entered the house quietly, waving good-bye to Ororo’s mom. She closed the door softly.

The house was silent.

She peeked in the living room.

It was empty.

She crept down the hall and carefully opened the door to her father’s room.

Sure enough, there were clothes strewn all over the floor, just like they were every time Anya returned from a sleepover- almost like her dads forgot where the laundry went while she was gone! In the large, comfy bed, her dads were cuddled close together, fast asleep. Both appeared to be shirtless, and both were smiling peacefully in their sleep.

Anya closed the door softly.


End file.
